Shield and Sword
by Hiza Montmorency
Summary: Being a tale of love, hate, fights, friendship, honor, guilt, joy, and family.  Told in stacked drabble format.
1. Part One: Fall

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

_Hark! The Death-denouncing trumpet sounds_

_The fatal charge, and shouts proclaim the onset;_

_Destruction rushes dreadful to the field_

_And bathes itself in blood; Havoc let loose_

_Now undistinguished rages all around._

_While Ruin, seated on her dreary throne,_

_Sees the plain strewed with subjects truly hers,_

_Breathless and cold._

**Harvard**

/

It is fall- full of leaves, cold, bright color, and tournaments. Challenges are flung through the air like lightning from the heavens, and are met in a clash of lances or swords.

A gauntlet has been throw- to the king.

King Arthur, who fetches his shield and his sword.

/

**This is a story in what I lovingly refer to as stacked drabble form. (Part one is 100 words each, part two is 200 words, etc.) You can choose to see the slash, or not to see it. All up to you. Reviews are love.**


	2. One

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Arthur watches.

Each buckle is tightened, each strap adjusted, each piece of metal that has been specially designed to keep people from being utterly destroyed in a heart-beat adjusted to Gwaine's body with careful motions that say Merlin's done this before.

They seem oblivious to the fact that he is in the red and gold striped tent with him, and he wants to keep it that way. It hurts, to watch them.

Merlin rises from where he has knelt to tighten some of the straps on Gwaine's legs. His hands shake, sliding over the breastplate.

Arthur silently leaves, jaw tight.

/


	3. Two

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Merlin's heart bangs like a drum against his chest as he tightens each strap, thinking that he's done this a million times for Arthur, and that it's so odd how it's Gwaine, and he's amazed at how different they are, and…

His hands begin to shake and he pauses, leaning forward to rest his head on Gwaine's metal clad shoulder.

Terror.

Pure terror.

"You could die out there," he whispers. It's like a blow to the heart. Because, it's true, after all. Gwaine could die.

A gauntleted and vambraced arm gently encircle him, squeezing softly.

"But I'm not going too."

/


	4. Three

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Gwaine knows that this is how it has to be. That he has to be the champion, because Arthur doesn't trust himself not to put Lance at the forefront of battle anymore. Not with Gwen in the picture. Not with his heart broken in a million pieces.

It doesn't mean he likes it.

It doesn't mean that he likes watching Merlin nearly fall apart, fear clouding his eyes as he pushes back, and continues his work, hands still shaking.

They are Arthur's shield and sword- one to protect, one to defend.

Gwaine doesn't like it, but that's how it is.


	5. Four

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Lancelot curses himself every time that this sort of thing happens. Curses himself, and wonders how stupid he had to have been to get involved when a woman was married, and to his King, at that.

He paces angrily outside the tent, knowing that it is taboo for him to enter. Merlin has made it clear that when he arms someone, he arms them alone. No distractions.

Gwaine in particular- when he arms Gwaine, only Arthur is allowed inside, and only for a short time. Gwaine is important to him, more important than Lancelot thinks he even realizes.

It hurts.


	6. Five

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

The pages learn quickly when they come to Camelot that no one but Merlin himself handles Sir Gwaine's steed. His name is Guingalet. He is cared for only by Gwaine or Merlin. He is not, under any circumstances, to be touched by anyone but Gwaine or Merlin.

The hostlers call him an aughisky. A demon horse.

(He is, in fact, a Neapolitan.)

When Merlin slips out of the tent, everyone watches wide eyed as he reaches up, flings his arms around the huge black neck, and buries his face in its shoulder.

The horse merely snorts, and nuzzles his shoulder.


	7. Six

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Gwaine finally exits, after a few deep breaths and maybe a prayer, to see Merlin leaning against Guingalet. The monster is standing placidly for once, letting Merlin stroke the huge, muscled neck. His ears prick up at the sight of Gwaine, then flick around, reminding him that he's not the master and commander in chief. His life is in the hands of a bad tempered horse and a servant who just so happens to have magical powers.

This is oddly reassuring.

Merlin looks up, and Gwaine sees the red rims of his eyes.

"Be careful."

Gwaine grins. It feels forced.


	8. Seven

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Merlin's still shaking when he takes his position at Arthur's shoulder, his hands locked behind his back so as not to betray him. Arthur looks up, his own eyes anxious, but Merlin refuses to look down at him. He's already all but paralyzed with fear, and seeing Arthurs would just solidify this.

He is the shield.

Gwaine is the sword.

Arthur is the one who wields them both, with careful justice and deadly skill born of long practice.

Seeing Gwaine _act_ as the sword is torment for them both.

The two of them sit still and silent, dreading the outcome.


	9. Eight

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Gwen feels the guilt like a palpable thing. It slipped into her system months ago, after that first time she'd dared even look at Lancelot with her wishes in her eyes.

Sitting beside Arthur, her husband, the man tense as a board and trying not to show how worried he is, the guilt swamps her.

She reaches out- touches his hand.

He glances over. Smiles, even though it's clearly a strain, and weaves their fingers together.

His knuckles are white. She squeezes back, and hates the bit of her that wishes it was Lancelot.

On the east side, Gwaine readies.


	10. Nine

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

The knight came from Mercia. He came to see this country, and found it wanting. He thought himself strong- he challenged a king, the one called Arthur.

He was rejected, handed off to the Kings Champion- Gwaine, they called him.

He was disgusted.

He wanted to kill.

But on his second pass, he found himself flying backwards, propelled by a vicious lance. He landed hard. Scrambled to his feet.

Drew his sword.

Gwaine was already off his horse, own sword drawn.

"Don't make me do this," the long haired man said softly.

The Mercian snarled, and struck out, hard.

Connected.


	11. Part Two: Winter

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

_Sometimes, I think, the things we see_

_Are shadows of the things to be: _

_That what we plan we build;_

_That every hope that hath been crossed,_

_And every dream we thought was lost,_

_In Heaven shall be fulfilled._

**Robert Browning**

/

Winter fell, slow and deep and steady, drowning Camelot in ice and sheets of white. Swirls of ice crystals swished up, stinging the faces of walking people bundled in their cloaks, shivering.

No tournaments were held now. Now was the time that knights practiced indoor games of the court- court_ing_, mostly.

Well, all save a few.

Gwaine was recoving.

/

**Much thanks to all my reviewers, and happy holidays in advance.**


	12. Ten

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

It hadn't been a pretty injury.

The Mercian had slashed him badly, and the chain mail and plate had parted like a hot knife in butter under his onslaught. The crowd had gasped. Merlin had nearly lunged into the ring with Arthur, but Gwen somehow held them both back as Gwaine rallied, turned, and stabbed the man straight through the heart.

He'd stood there, swaying, and unceremoniously collapsed.

That was when Merlin had vaulted past Gwen, flying to his friend's side, hands frantically grasping buckles and ties, trying to get to the wound.

They had to pry him off. He'd fought the whole time, screaming for Gwaine not to die, to live, to fight.

It haunted his dreams, his every waking moment.

/

He sat bold upright, gasping and shivering in the cold of the tower room he still occupied, eyes wide and glowing gold. All the furniture but his bed was piled at the door now, forming a barricade.

Sighing, he got out of bed and went to find one of the heavy robes Gaius had left him, bundling tight against the icy drafts.

This, he was afraid, was going to be a very long day.

He was unfortunately right.


	13. Eleven

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"You could have died, you know."

Gwaine doesn't even look up from where he's laboriously working his way through the pile of papers- invites to parties he'll probably turn down. "You tell me that every day, and I remind you every day that I didn't."

A flap of fabric, perhaps harsher than necessary.

"And every day you touch that scar and you hunch your shoulders, and I feel guilty."

Gwaine's hand stops just over the scar that runs from the bottom of his ribcage on the left side to the knob of his right hipbone. Looking up, he sees Merlin glowering at a pale green shirt, a recent acquisition to his collection. He's becoming quite the peacock. Merlin refuses to let anyone else mend them, so the younger man spends a lot of time with him now.

He sighs, releases the papers. "And every day, I remind you that it wasn't your fault, it was the blacksmiths."

Merlin's mouth becomes a thin, white line, and he folds the shirt quickly. It doesn't disguise his shaking hands. Merlin shakes a lot these days- he thinks it's stress.

Gwaine levers himself out of his chair, coming over to give Merlin a hug.


	14. Twelve

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Merlin drops his head onto the pillow, curls up, and pretends that he doesn't hear the extremely unmasked snort.

"What, pray tell, are you doing in my bed?"

Merlin pulls the covers over his head. "'M not in your bed. It's just your imagina-"

Arthur yanks the covers back, glaring. "I don't have much of an imagination, _Mer_lin. Out."

Merlin glares up at him, slithering out of the nice, incredibly warm bed. "It's _warm_. You don't have to deal with a drafty room and thin blankets," he grumbles, stalking over to pick up a basket of laundry.

"I've told you and Gwaine to take the double suite on the third floor, but will you listen?" Arthur snaps back, even though he's smiling a little fondly.

"There are already rumors flying about that you and I are enjoying ourselves in the solace of these chambers. I'm not ruining Gwaine's reputation as well," Merlin calls over his shoulder as he saunters out the door, laundry balanced on his hip, and ignoring the shamed blush that's marching up to conquer his face.

No, Gwaine's reputation doesn't need any more damage than it already had thanks to his frequent visits to the man's chambers.


	15. Thirteen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

It hurts, dragging his heavy chain mail on and going out into the snow to ride patrol, but Gwaine does it anyway. He hustles into the stables, waves to the hostler-boys nestled in the straw, and hurries to Guingalet, who looks like he's ready to commit murder. The aughisky is used to lots of exercise, and this extended stay in a confined space is not doing him good.

Gwaine talks soft and low to the giant black monster, murmuring reassurances and stroking him with the brush. The horse leans into him, eyes drooping. Finally, he saddles up and coaxes the bit into his mouth, bridling him.

They go out into the snow, Gwaine pulling up a scarf, the other knight in his patrol trotting up. Squinting, he can see that the colors are Lancelot's.

Oh, joy.

Mounting up, Gwaine ignores the wave of greeting, and gallops out of the courtyard, Guingalet surging beneath him and sparks flying from his hooves. He feels the sting of the snow, and loves it.

They plow into a snow bank, Guingalet's enormous chest parting it like the bow of a ship. He pulls himself up, and plunges again, neighing angrily.

This is being alive.


	16. Fourteen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"Arthur, this amount of laundry is getting ridiculous-"

Merlin pauses, and looks about the royal bedchamber. There is no Arthur. Arthur is supposed to be here.

Sighing, he drops the laundry on the table, opens the wardrobe, and removes the winter cloak that is hanging there, instead of being on Arthur's body.

He knows where to find him. His feet trace a familiar path up winding stairs to the top tower, where a small balcony allows for a marvelous view. It's Arthur's thinking place, and for some unknown reason he always forgets the cloak.

Arthur is, of course, standing out in the cold, surveying his kingdom- or, at least the visible amount of his kingdom. Far in the distance, a black dot is moving through the snow.

Merlin silently hands him the cloak, pulling his own close to him. Arthur looks at it for a moment, confused, then pulls it on with a long-suffering sigh.

"You know," Merlin says frostily, "It wouldn't kill you to stop brooding all the time."

Arthur sniffs regally. "I'm not _brooding, Mer_lin. I'm in contemplation."

"You're brooding. Just like a hen."

Arthur whacks him on the shoulder. "You would too, if your wife was unfaithful."


	17. Fifteen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

That very effectively kills the conversation. Arthur curls up in his cloak, staring out at the black dot. It's Gwaine, Merlin realizes, coming in from patrol.

They stand in silence for a good while, quiet and introspective. Arthur speaks first.

"She didn't come back last night."

Merlin looks up at him, acknowledging his words and listening carefully to hidden meanings.

Arthur continues blithely, even though his eyes look like they're red-rimmed. "One of the pages told me that she didn't even bother to come to gather her things from our rooms. So, she must have some clothes with... him."

Merlin leans against him, just to let Arthur be aware of his support.

Arthur lowers his head, breathing labored and controlled. "It's not _fair_."

Merlin says softly, "No one ever said life was."

Arthur nods, sighs, and lifts his head, reaching up to rub at stinging eyes. "I know," he mutters, "But that doesn't mean I like it."

Merlin sighs too, and tugs at his arm. "Well, now that that's out of the way, you have an audience with that evil emissary from Angsley."

"Oh, wonderful. What's he on about this time?"

"As if I know," Merlin snorts, leading him downstairs.


	18. Sixteen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Gwaine collapses into bed, curling up into the soft, loving warmth of the blankets that had been warmed by the fire while he was gone. He is completely unsurprised by the folded laundry neatly placed in his wardrobe, the fire that is piled high with logs, and the armor stand that holds his recently repaired plate. He is surprised, when he manages to reopen his eyes, to find that Merlin is in his room, has brought him lunch and is looking supremely unimpressed with his pile of wet clothes.

"Don't you believe in knocking?" He asks mildly, uncurling enough to snake a hand out to grab a bit of jerky. Merlin must be feeling generous, to get him treats in the middle of a very nasty winter.

Merlin snorts, setting the plate down. "Between you and Arthur asking me that…" he mutters, moving to pick up the sopping clothes and hang them on the clothes stand by the fire.

Gwaine grins, reaching over to grab another piece of meat. "Lancelot's horse managed to foul itself," he tells him, pulling himself upright. "Picked up a nasty stone or something."

Merlin makes a noise of disapproval, and pokes at the wet clothes.


	19. Seventeen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"Arthur mentioned moving into the double suite again," Merlin says suddenly, when they're eating dinner in Gwaine's rooms. It was a very good dinner- someone had found the time to clean the dirt from the wheat and made marvelous bread that Merlin had immediately requisitioned- with a side of dried fruits and a hare from the brace that Percival had brought in.

Gwaine looks up. "Oh?" He says casually.

"Yeah…He was telling me after the Angsley emissary left too that if I stayed up in Gaius's old rooms he would have to evict me. Apparently the…" Merlin swallows hard. Gaius's death, shortly after Uther's, had come as no surprise, but it still hurt. He rallied and continued. "The new physician should be coming soon, and will need the space."

Gwaine makes a noncommittal noise, watching him carefully. Merlin moodily stabs at his hare.

"We could, you know," Gwaine says absently. Merlin's hands, which have been steadier than usual lately, spasm, and then relax. He looks up, a shade nervously.

"Your reputation's already on the line, what with me being with you all the time," Merlin points out neutrally, but there's a fragment of hope.

Gwaine smothers a grin. "Who cares?"


	20. Eighteen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Lancelot is somehow unsurprised when Gwaine stalks into his rooms a few days after their patrol, limping slightly thanks to the pain that cold brings to his scar. Lance offers him a chair, and tries not to wince when Gwaine sits and almost unconsciously rubs his hip-bone.

The guilt rushes up, tightening his throat and constricting his heart.

"What is it?" He asks through taut lips.

"Do I need a reason to drop in on a friend?" Gwaine asks, smiling slightly, but there's a bit of toothy danger lurking in the familiar gesture.

Lance looks down, twining his hands together. "These days, yes," he says quietly. "Not with my idiocy, not with the Kings favor no longer mine. People do not talk to me. Never. I have resigned myself to being hated, Gwaine." He looks up, knowing his eyes are haunted and hunted. "What do you want from me?"

It comes out harsh and pleading, and that hurts, because he's never been one to beg.

Gwaine's eyes soften, and he stands. "C'mon. Let's go out, Lance. Like old times."

Lancelot takes the offered hand, and for a second, heals. "I'm so sorry."

"You're already forgiven."


	21. Part Three: Spring

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

_I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word_

_Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;_

_Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;_

_Thy knotted and combined locks to part,_

_And each particular hair to stand on end,_

_Like quills upon the fretful porcupine._

**Shakespeare**

**/**

There is something about the rising of the new grass after winter's grasp that makes blood stir. The inhabitants of Camelot feared it, as their King's eyes grew shadowed, their Queen's mouth grew grim, and their former Champion kept ever more to himself, hiding in his quarters to avoid their stares.


	22. Nineteen

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

His wards scream the alarm as someone dares step over the threshold.

Merlin pulls his head out of the water with a gasp, flailing behind him to connect with whoever has decided that now would be a good time to interrupt his morning bath, a spell already on his lips. It dies as he sees a decidedly pale Arthur staring at him.

A moment of panic seizes him, and then he forces himself to relax. He's been enjoying new privileges as Arthur's invisible shield, but privacy will never be one. Just because Arthur knows of his magic now it doesn't make him comfortable with it.

Scowling, Merlin grabs his linen towel (another one of his very nice privileges is a bathing room in the double suite he now shares with Gwaine) and says calmly, "Well?"

Arthur sinks into one of the chairs scattered about the bathing room. Color comes back to his face. "You're not going to like this."

"Oh?" Merlin says with great dignity, turning a very delicate shade of pink as he clambers out of the ornate bath, wrapping the towel around his waist and glaring at the smirk on Arthurs face.

"If you're staying in here, turn around. You're putting me off," he informs the King, who rolls his eyes and does as ordered.

"Well," Arthur continues as Merlin towels off quickly, feeling more than a shade exposed, "One of the continental kings, Ban? You remember him?"

"He's the one with the really bad toupee?"

"Yes. Well, he's decided to declare war on us."

Merlin drops his towel, and then pulls it hastily back up. "_What?_ Why? We've been nothing but friendly to him!"

Arthur sighs, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "He says he can't respect a king who sleeps with male servants."

Merlin is absolutely, positively pole-axed.


	23. Twenty

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Gwaine returns to his part of their suite to hear a full blown, lungs at full capacity, voices as high pitched as they can go argument in full swing. Dropping his cloak on the chair, he saunters into the bathing room to watch in amusement as Merlin, clutching a towel around his waist and shrieking obscenities at Arthur, dances on the other side of the bath.

Arthur's yelling too, trying to calm down the dark haired man, who is having none of it, and is waving his hands in exasperation.

"Do you see what you've done! My reputation is DEAD! DEAD, I TELL YOU!" Merlin shrieks, sounding exactly like his namesake. Hiking the towel a little higher, he continues hysterically, "The next thing you know we'll have armies marching in the streets because I do your laundry! YOUR LAUNDRY, ARTHUR! _Laundry is not a cause for war!"_

"What, you think I _told _him that we were sleeping together?"

Gwaine's eyebrows shoot up at that.

"What, are you stalking me? Creeping into my bed at night? Because in case you haven't noticed, _WE AREN'T SLEEPING TOGETHER!"_

Merlin's voice has gone up at least three octaves by now and is reaching the breaking point. Gwaine's eyebrows decide to return to their normal place on his face, though he feels more than a shade confused now. Coughing politely, he is unsurprised when Merlin shrieks again and spins to look at him wide eyed and then begin searching for another towel, bright red. Arthur just looks at him with his "I give up, you fix him" face.

"So," he says casually as he can without giggling at Merlin's flushed face (Merlin just can't get used to him always around when he's sans clothing). "You two going to explain yourselves?"

Merlin twitches. Arthur just groans.


	24. Twenty One

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Once Merlin has calmed down and found some clothing and Arthur has explained the Great Stupidity of King-Ban-Who-Wear-A-Wig it's all Gwaine can do to keep from either punching Arthur or giggling like a little girl. He's half tempted to do both. Somewhere along the line, he realizes somewhat miserably, he's become accustomed to fighting people who try and injure Merlin's virtue- or whatever it is that makes him feel all protective and that he has to keep him cocooned against the world. After he has finally calmed back down from Gwaine's near death experience and stopped shaking… Well. Gwaine is not about to let that kind of anxiety start back up.

Merlin and Arthur, though? Is the man an idiot?

He doesn't realize he's said that out loud until Arthur's whacking him on the arm, glaring, and Merlin has whacked him upside the head, snorting.

"Hush," Merlin says dryly. "We've already ruined what precious little reputation you have. The last thing we need is you insulting a king who's already annoyed with us."

"You mean the same king who as much as said that our King isn't really a man?"

Dead silence.

Arthur breaks it, very quietly, his voice made of razor blades. _"What_ did you say?"

Gwaine shrugs. "Well, generally speaking, most men seek the comfort of a woman's arms, yes?"

"Yes…" Arthur's voice is still dangerous.

"Well, if you're seeking the arms of a man- which, I now know you're not-" the unspoken, _or if you are, it better not be a certain servant_ hangs in the air, "Then, by implication, you're a woman."

There is a pause that hangs very carefully in the air, then,

"I'm going to kill him," Arthur says very calmly, standing up and storming from the room.

Merlin sighs, grinning. "I love logic."


	25. Twenty Two

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Exactly one month of prickly meetings with Ban's emissary and his supremely overly dramatic son (creepily also named Lancelot, which weird's out all of the castles inhabitants), Ban retracts his statement on the grounds that he doesn't want to war with the single most powerful king in Albion.

All is well, up until the annual visit from Mercia commences.

Merlin's heart stops in a way it hasn't in months when one of the visitors, Sir Ceolwyn, throws a spike gauntlet at Gwaine in the middle of a nice, polite banquet, and openly denounces him in language not suitable for ladies ears. Among the accusations is the usual- he is nothing more than a false knight, he has no honor, he is an illegitimate child, he seeks the custom of higher ranked men to ensure that his position is kept. Arthur is rigid as a board through it all, hand tight on Gwen's, whose eyes are disturbingly wide. Lancelot, next to Gwaine, is already half out of his chair, face taut with rage, but he freezes when Gwaine's hand latches onto his arm. Slowly he sits.

Just as slowly, Gwaine stands, eyes dangerously cold. Lifting his goblet, he makes a brief motion of a toast and downs the wine in it, eyes never leaving Ceolwyn's face.

"My name," he says very softly, "Is Sir Gwaine. I am the son of a great knight who served under Caerleon and a true lady. I have more honor than you can hope for. And how I spend my time is entirely my own business. I will see you tomorrow, and for your slander you shall pay dearly."

He calmly sets his goblet back down, sits, and smiles charmingly at Lady Alianne, who goes bright red as he starts up conversation, purposefully ignoring the Mercian.


	26. Twenty Three

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Gwen is about to make her excuses when very quietly behind her in their rooms Arthur says, "Please. Not tonight."

She freezes, swallowing hard, and turns to look at her husband, who's leaning against their bed, eyes shadowed and hurt. Her heart squeezes with guilt and shame, and she sets down the cloak, coming over to gently frame his face with her hands. He stares at her with eyes so exhausted and pained she wonders how long he's stayed silent.

She couldn't tell how long they just stood there, but suddenly Arthur's wrapping his arms around her and they're actually kissing, for the first time in a very long time, and Arthur's cheeks are wet with tears as she pulls him close.

The flames of guilt loosen as she leads him to a chair, and slowly begins to pull off his boots, one by one. It was something that they had once done regularly, when Arthur was still fighting to keep himself from drowning in the mass of problems that came with a kingdom… when they were still happy and together.

She sets them aside and stands to pull him up, startled when she realizes how thin he is.

"Bed?" she asks softly, and he just nods, tiredly, letting her lead him there, shucking off clothing as he goes. She gets him in, his body growing steadily slower, and removes her own, finding a simple nightdress in her wardrobe. Sliding in beside him, she reaches out and slowly strokes his face, feeling the faint hint of stubble.

He stares blankly at her from those blue eyes she loves- really, truly loves.

"Why don't you hate me?" She whispers, throat tight with guilt and misery.

Arthur smiles sadly, pulling her into his arms and curling around her.

"Because I love you."


	27. Twenty Four

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

They have the argument in Gwaine's rooms, simply because Gwaine's have a lot less breakable objects. Merlin has a bad habit of letting his magic get away from him when he's upset, and to say he's upset is an understatement of massive proportions.

It started with a few quiet words along the lines of, "How could you?" "For my honor." "_Honor?_ That's why you're possibly getting yourself killed?" "I'm not going to get killed, Merlin." "You don't know that!"

And it had simply deteriorated from there, each of them getting slightly more infuriated over nothing.

By now they're both in fully vocalized scream mode, and Merlin's making the rug fly madly around the room, dust is flying everywhere, the castle itself is trembling on its foundations-

Then, it just…stops.

Silence.

Merlin slowly crumples into a chair like a paper card folding in, and Gwaine comes over to flop down beside him on his supremely battered couch, exhaling deeply.

They stare about the wreckage of the room. It is extremely impressive.

"Well," Gwaine says simply, "At least we didn't destroy the bed this time. _That _was certainly awkward to explain to the removal crew."

Merlin makes a noise of agreement, grinning tiredly and leaning his head back. "Good times," he grins, rubbing his cheek where the rug whipped him in the face. "It looks like I owe you a new rug."

Gwaine chuckles tiredly. "Eh. But at least we've got the stress worked out, right?"

"Mm."

It had been a really odd occurrence that had led to their first discovery of Merlin's best stress reliever. They'd just moved into the double suite, and Merlin had been having one of his shaking days.

One very loud, angry argument about how he wasn't weak later, no more shaky Merlin.

Gwaine was very pleased.


	28. Twenty Five

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Two days later, and Arthur is watching Merlin arm Gwaine once more, and his heart is in his throat.

They make a beautiful sight, Merlin in his proper uniform, sans the feathery hat, Gwaine in his full armor, plumed helm sitting with all its grace on a table near them. The basic tightening down still haa to be done, but the plates are all in their proper place, waiting to be pulled tight, gleaming in the light filtering into the red and gold tent. Merlin's face is drawn, but his hands are steady and controlled as he kneels to begin adjusting the greaves. His eyes are oddly calm, and when Gwaine's hand drops to his shoulder for balance he doesn't so much as twitch.

Arthur's heart slows a bit at that. Once upon a time, not so long ago, Merlin would have jumped half out of his skin with the touch of Gwaine's hand. Now he welcomes it, leaning into him to give him something to balance with.

It is oddly intimate to see them like this, as Merlin's long fingers dip into the crevices to pluck at ties and buckles, the leather oiled and supple, the metal mirror bright. Arthur had watched him clean it with the same care he gave to Arthurs, scouring it with sand to remove even the faintest hint of rust. As he watches, Merlin slips behind Gwaine to tighten even more straps, occasionally murmuring soft instructions.

Slowly, he turns and walks out of the tent as Merlin picks up the helm, handing it to Gwaine with an unreadable look in his eyes.

It hurts, but the hurt eases as Gwen comes up, dressed simply in pale purple, and pulls him close.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too," he whispers right back.


	29. Twenty Six

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

No horses this time- no vicious Guingalet to help attack if things went badly. Just Gwaine, a sword, a shield, and as much luck training afforded.

Merlin stands in his normal position behind Arthur, heart fluttering like a winged thing, but feeling calmer than he has in years.

The fact that Arthur and Gwen have their fingers tangled together and Lancelot is actually _flirting _with one of the pretty noblewomen who's turned out to watch the event probably has something to do with it, he thinks wryly, before looking over to see where Gwaine has entered. An enormous cheer goes up, to no one's surprise- Gwaine is popular, after all, and absolutely adored by all the young women of the court. He swings his sword in a lazy arc- a sort of wave to acknowledge them. Sir Ceolwyn, on the other side, ignores them all, standing silently in the corner.

Merlin watches him closely. He swore to himself when these sorts of things started happening that he wouldn't magic anyone who was fighting- fair was fair, and the last time he'd done it Lancelot had gone berserk and ranted the house down about honor and pride and how important it was to fight one's own battles and blah blah blah… Merlin had nodded calmly through the whole thing, and for once taken it to heart.

So, today Gwaine fights his own battles and it will be lovely, providing that no one dies, and Merlin is pretty sure that no one will.

Ceolwyn comes to the middle of the field, and Gwaine comes to meet him. Arthur stands, gives his normal speech, and two swords clash into a gyrating dance of steel.

He loves watching Gwaine fight, not that he'll admit it, _ever_, because it makes him nervous.

Gwaine wins, easily.


	30. Twenty Seven

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"I told you."

"Yes, yes you did."

"…I _told_ you."

"Gwaine, you've said this about ten times now. Now, can I eat my breakfast in peace?"

"…"

"…Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that- Like you're all smug and pleased."

"I _am_ smug and pleased. Here I am, alive after I've just severely beaten a man who challenged me, and I'm eating breakfast with my best friend, who is also a simply _marvelous_ cook, and also happens to be my roommate. Oh, and I have an awesome horse, and a job, and income, and a person I feel good about working for. Life is good."

"…You are so strange, Gwaine."

"You know you love me, Merlin."

"…Eat your eggs, you great ox."

/

Arthur knocks cautiously on the door to the combined suite where Gwaine and Merlin live, listening closely for any sounds of breaking objects. When they got into their spirited arguments, no one was safe, and it was always better to let someone come to the door than to barge in.

The door flies open to reveal a widely grinning Gwaine. "Arthur! Just in time for breakfast! Sorry, I commandeered Merlin this morning- you can have him after noon."

"Gwaine, I did not spend all this time to have you up and walk off!" An utterly irate Merlin says, stalking out of the common living room like an angry stork. He pauses as he sees Arthur, and sighs, giving Gwaine a long-suffering glare. "Well, we have enough for three, I suppose."

Arthur blinks, and a minute later he's sitting at a table, listening to Gwaine and Merlin bicker like an old married couple, and…heaven forbid, he's joining in, and the banter is lighter than he's felt in a very long time.

It feels very, very good.


	31. Part Four: Summer

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

_The moving Finger writes; and, having writ_

_Moves on: Nor all your Piety nor Wit_

_Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line_

_Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it._

**The Rubaiyat LXXI, Omar Khayyam **

/

It is hot. It is muggy. It is unbelievably, wretchedly, _greenly_ summer, and Camelot, for once, is enjoying an inordinate amount of peace. The King and Queen are close again. The lower town is warm and comfortable for once, the people are happy and getting very fat. The knights are in perfect fighting shape.

Everyone exhales in relief as peace enters.


	32. Twenty Eight

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

The thunder of hooves pounds into Merlin's brain, and he wonders for the million and first time why he decided that this would be a good idea. Gwaine, on Guingalet beside him, looks like he's having the exact same thoughts, but neither of them are about to say anything when Gwen and Arthur are gamboling about in the woods like a pair of newlyweds. Lancelot, thankfully, has gone off on some quest or the other, which leaves the two of them to get to know each other again. The other knights are farther ahead, trying to keep up with the King and Queen and failing miserably. Both of the royals are supremely good horse-people, and have very fast, long endurance horses.

A shriek of laughter echoes from the trees, and Gwaine rolls his eyes as Merlin smothers a grin.

"They're going to be out here all day," Merlin says in amusement, settling himself in the saddle.

"Oh yes," Gwaine agrees, grinning like a loon. "And we'll probably go swimming. And climb trees. And have a picnic. And-"

"-And I get the point," Merlin says, grinning back at him, "You're utterly delighted you got out of patrol for a day."

"Oh _yes_," Gwaine says wickedly. "I'm ecstatic. I'm all but jumping up and down with joy because of the simple fact that _I _don't have to deal with any pompous little toady of a courtier who thinks that he's the greatest thing since the invention of woolly tights. I'm thoroughly delighted, Merlin. Absolutely _delighted. _ Have I mentioned how overjoyed I am at _not _having to spend the day staring blankly at four stone walls?"

Merlin laughs, urging his horse into a canter. Gwaine follows, grinning so widely that the others wonder why his face hasn't cracked.

The trees rush by, green leaves rustling richly as the horses surge through the warmth of the summer afternoon, their riders equally warm and full of pure, undiluted joy.

The King and his Queen watch as the two all by fly by, Guingalet and Merlin's still unnamed gelding's manes and tails fluttering in the wind, and reach over to take each other's hands.

Laughter ripples through the trees, irresistible in its brightness and warmth, and the other knight's smile broadly, infected by the brilliance of the day. The King and his Queen watch and smile broadly as their knight's frolic and play in the forest.


	33. Twenty Nine

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

The plan is, in theory, that they're going to relax at the edge of the small river with the knights obediently gathered around, looking watchful and alert, but after Merlin and Gwaine race off no one's much in the mood to do much relaxing. It seems much more fun to romp around excitedly in the forest, frolicking like a set of overactive and supremely hyper children playing at being knights rather than actually _being_ knights.

The King and his Queen lounge on a blanket that someone (Merlin, undoubtedly) has brought and laid out, watching as the Knights pull their cloaks off and beginning a game of tag or something similar. They watch like overgrown parents, indulgent and smiling as they recline together in the warm sunshine, fingers curled together with the warm comfort brought on by a few years of being married.

Merlin and Gwaine, in a glade farther off, are curled up in the sunshine as well, cloaks spread out to act as blankets on the still slightly damp grass. The world is bright, and beautiful, and so perfectly _alive_.

"It's a beautiful day."

"It's a rather nice day."

"Fantastic."

"Splendid."

"Wonderful."

"Glorious."

"Magnificent."

"…Green."

"…Green? You came up with _green_ out of all that?"

"Well it _is _green. And warm. And lovely. And generally spectacular."

"Gwaine.

"Merlin."

Gwaine chuckles, rolling over to look at his friend and smiling happily. "This is a good day."

"Mmhmm," Merlin manages, quietly smiling and closing his eyes, pillowing his head on his clasped hands.

There's a shriek of laughter through the trees, and Gwaine looks up just in time to see Percival tackled by four of the younger knights. He grins, reaching over to lightly elbow his friend. "Hey, look."

Merlin slowly pries open his eyes- what with having many, _many_ late nights he really wants to sleep. "What is it-"

He catches the sight of Percival, walking slowly with four fully grown knights hanging off of insanely broad shoulders and giggling like young girls. He grins, trying not to start giggling himself. Gwaine chuckles, watching as well and clearly very amused.

"This is getting to be one very weird day," Merlin says dryly, starting to grin like the village idiot. Gwaine giggles, rolling over till the two of them are leaned in like two conniving children.

The forest sparkles with light and laughter as the group flits through the watching trees.


	34. Thirty

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"I would really, really like to know what exactly fueled this grand scheme."

Gwaine and Merlin are staring absently into the corner of their shared room from where they've flopped onto the couch. Arthur is the one who's spoken, but there clearly hasn't been much in the way of understanding. The duo are rather blank faced, eyes wide with innocence.

"I mean, it's not like you don't have plenty of other things to do," Arthur continues rather blandly, clearly trying not to laugh as he looks at them from where he's standing in front of them. "There's patrol, and laundry, and…"

"Awkward conversations," Merlin says just as blandly, "Involving the maids and possibly the local apothecaries and curious dissertations on their personal favorite times with their friends."

"Oh really now."

"Yes. Really." Arthur looks unimpressed, and Merlin shrugs. "No one ever said that it all had to make sense, right?"

Gwaine nods impassively, lips trembling ever so slightly as he tries not to laugh as well."

Arthur shakes his head. "So you put together a plan involving a frog, a skirt, bright blue flowers, and a fake unicorn."

"And oil. Can't forget oil," Gwaine adds helpfully, eyes sparkling. Merlin elbows him forcefully, trying not to smile like an idiot along side him. Arthur snorts, trying very hard to avoid laughing as well, swallowing down his smile as well.

"Yes, we certainly can't forget oil. Or you know, the glaringly obvious fact that you put a _horse_ in a _dress _and tied a _frog _to its _head_ and _rode it through town. _Definitely can't forget that one. Oh, and did I mention that that horse was the property of Mercia's favorite ambassador?"

The three stare at each other for a long minute, then all burst into uproarious laughter.

"Did you _see _his face? Did you _see _it? It was so hilarious I think I must have had almost had heart failure."

"I thought _he _was going to have a heart attack!"

"I could _not _stop laughing, just couldn't!"

The trio collapse to the ground, giggling like a group of idiots.

Gwen knocks on the door a little while later, and grins when she has to open it herself, revealing a tangle of laughing people on the floor. Raising an eyebrow, she asks wryly, "Did you three have a good serious talk, then?"

The group looks at each other and just laughs.


	35. Thirty One

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Summer is one of the best and alternately the worst of the seasons for Merlin, and he knows it. Summer means sweaty clothes, and dented armor, and tournaments, and dangerous people trying to invade, and the never ending challenge of keeping Arthur fed goes up very quickly with all the running about he does.

This, of course, is not the reason why he goes to bed early and flatly refuses to move so much as a toe out of bed, oh no. It's because of Arthur's bed head.

"Let me get this straight," Gwaine says over a breakfast of toast and what may have been last year's bacon, "You are, from here on out, allowed to sleep in so long as you so desire? What is this madness?"

Merlin grins, spearing another piece of bacon with the knife. "Bed head. Gwen's taken to monopolizing his mornings trying to either tame it or do illicit things to it."

Gwaine chokes on his toast, raising an inquisitive and somewhat disbelieving eyebrow.

Merlin nods, smirk widening. "Oh yes, and I'm loving every minute of it." He stretches luxuriously in his chair, grin widening as Gwaine shakes his head, grinning as well. "Seriously. It's wonderful. I get to sleep in until the sun's come up _and_ I get to have breakfast at a humane time again-"

"-With me, so the wonderful is doubled-"

"-Thank you, Gwaine, but yes. It's nice being able to spend time with you again rather than having to fight my way through dinner to get a glimpse of the back of your head." Merlin grins, and smugly recaptures the toast that has oh so sneakily been sliding closer and closer to Gwaine's plate.

"Oi! I was going to eat that!"

"Was being the operative word, there."

"Bugger off."

"Not likely," Merlin laughs, face splitting into a grin. "You're stuck with me for the rest of your days, Sir Gwaine. You may as well accept it."

Gwaine shakes his head, grinning as well. "What're friends for, eh?"

"You mean besides doing the laundry and making the breakfast and generally cleaning whenever stuff gets thrown about crazily or goes bad?"

"Pfft." Gwaine flicks a small bit of bacon at his roommate. "Please, it's not like I haven't done some of that stuff."

"Of course," Merlin drawls wryly, catching the bacon neatly and swallowing.

/

"So I hear Gwen likes your hair..."

"Shut up."


	36. Thirty Two

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Merlin stares in blatant fascination down the flight of stairs at Elyan, who is trying to ignore the fact that he is being stared at and failing miserably. The knight is nervously sweeping the floor while being scolded by an elderly woman who is about as thin as the broom handle, and her voice is shrill and high.

Gwaine saunters up behind him, and Merlin turns to grin at him. "She's still going at it, then?" Gwaine says mildly, tossing the servant an apple.

"Oh yes. Has been for the past ten minutes or so."

"I don't doubt it."

The two resume their staring, Merlin cocking his head to the side as he considers the sweeping knight. The two begin following the sweep of the broom with their eyes, heads going back and forth in time with the broom.

Percival wanders up, as he's passing through the hallway, and looks down at the sweeping. He blinks once, turns and looks quizzically at the other two, who stare innocently back, and looks back at the broom.

Pretty soon, three heads are swinging in time with the broom and the elderly lady is still going full steam ahead. Elyan has now amassed a fairly large pile of dust and dirt and assorted grime by his feet, and the staring trio are all struck by a single thought, and look at each other with interest: _Where is he going to put it?_

"What are you lot staring at? Don't you have something more important to do?"

The three whip around at Arthur's annoyed voice and shush him, pointing down the stairs at the knight and his scolding. Arthur frowns, looks down, and considers.

"What's going on?"

Merlin grins. "Elyan tripped over her broom and scattered her dust pile everywhere, so she started scolding him and now he's cleaning it up."

The king blinks, and looks back down at the humble knight, who's now all but groveling at the woman's feet as he gingerly pushes the mess onto the dust-pan. "Can she do that?"

"Well, she's an old woman," Gwaine says mildly, taking another bite out of his apple. "I think it's required that they nag at you."

Percival whacks him on the arm, scowling. Gwaine winces and mutters and apology.

Arthur just looks at Merlin and says, calmly for someone who's clearly trying very hard not to giggle, "I'll be in my rooms."


	37. Thirty Three

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"Arthur?"

Merlin pokes his head into the royal chambers, and glances around only to pause in surprised confusion. The main table is in order. The bed is made. The fireplace is cleared of ashes and soot. His eyebrows furrow, and he enters the room with a pile of laundry and sets it on the table, considering the state of the room in utter bewilderment.

"Gwen?" he asks himself almost absently. It makes sense- she was a maid, she cleaned (a lot) and she may have been a bit frustrated by Arthur's general untidiness. Yet that doesn't feel quite right. Looking around, eyes narrowing now as he begins scouting for a sign, a warning about what has happened here, he realizes that something is very off with, of all things, the window seat table.

The table is a new acquisition to the room- Arthur had found it in some obscure corner of Camelot one day as he was wandering around, and fallen madly in love with the thing, going so far as to drag it back to his rooms himself, like a puppy with a prize. It is small, round, extremely old, battered, and made of some sort of dark wood that shined up well. Gwen had been amused by the table, and had indulged her husband's flight of fancy. Arthur had very happily had it placed beside the window seat so he could rest his feet on it.

Merlin approaches the table, looking at it quizzically as he tries to determine how, exactly, it is different. There are no immediately apparent signs, he decides. No one has changed the position of it. But it is _off, _like the rest of the room, in being very, very clean. Normally, Arthur's mud covered boots have been all over its scratched and dented surface, and the occasional scrap of parchment with a list or other such things has been set on it. The important thing is that _no one_ cleans the table- Merlin has given up, Gwen indulges her husband (and frankly, doesn't want to get her hands that dirty) and Arthur doesn't care.

Nothing.

Not a word.

Frowning, he crosses his arms and surveys the rest of the room. What is _wrong_ with this?

There is a faint creak, and as he turns, something heavy hits his head and the world goes black, very, very fast.

As he slumps, someone laughs darkly.


	38. Thirty Four

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

The world is dark, it is cold, and, as his eyes open to stare blankly around, he decides that he doesn't like it much. His eyes close again, trying to block out the dull ache in the back of his head and the impossibly cold room. It doesn't work, much to his chagrin.

Groaning as he forces his eyes back open and staring blearily around the dark, cavernous room, he wonders vaguely what's going on and whether or not he should be concerned about getting away from…from where ever he is at the time.

A kick hard to his side ensures him that this is probably a good idea. He coughs, and blood trickles out.

Another kick, and he keens in pain as his whole body shudders in pure agony. It _hurts _just to think, to breathe, to even consider moving. What has happened this time? More importantly- and his stomach drops to the floor just thinking about it- is Arthur alright?

"Stupid servant…Why'd we even get him anyway?"

The dull thud of flesh connecting with flesh sounds, and Merlin cowers against the rocky ground as a body falls to the floor, gasping in pain and covered in thick leather armor. It's a man, and he makes Percival look like a weakling who's never held a sword before. His brain screams in terror. His mouth stays resolutely closed.

_You've done this before_, he tells himself, hiding his terror. _You'll be fine. You've been in tighter places than this._

At least, that's what he thinks until someone uses their foot to roll him over, and he stares up into the cold, pitiless eyes of his captor.

This, he manages to get his brain to comprehend, is a man who would and probably will willingly break his back with one hand. There is no mercy in that face at all, and he's not surprised.

The man studies him, eyes glittering.

"Because we need him."

The man in the armor scrambles to his feet, keening slightly and clutching his waist.

"Aye…sir."

/

A month later, there's maybe a few scraps of the two left, and Merlin's sitting in the corner, crying as the knights coldly dispose of the remains. Gwaine is gently lifting him up, telling him it's time to go home. He just nods, burying his face in Gwaine's tunic and letting the sobs rock his body.

It hurts too much to hide.


	39. Thirty Five

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

Somewhere between Merlin getting kidnapped and Gwaine finding him with his patrol, Merlin's not-so-secret secret has managed to escape into the open. People stop him on the streets, even when he looks like he's about to pass out from the pure terror of having so many people around, to tell him how proud they are that he kept their king safe in secret so long. He just smiles at that, a bit anxiously, thanks them, and then flees back to the castle. It's not much better there. Gwaine has taken to yelling at whatever courtier has come to their door to beg favors. He doesn't like that they are disturbing the thin young man, who is trying very, very hard to recover from the nightmare he endured.

Merlin breaks things a lot more now. He and Gwaine have yelling matches that end with them both curled up on the floor, exhausted but cleansed, and their rooms now have the sturdiest furniture in the castle. He also spends a lot more time bathing, something that worries Gwaine, because while bathing isn't _bad_, per se, he does it very often and often comes out looking like he's tried to scrub his skin off.

Arthur stops by a lot more regularly as well. Merlin isn't allowed to work right now, but his majesty makes certain that he knows he's remembered. Gwen comes with him on occasion, when Arthur allows her to move, looking like someone has shoved a loaf of round bread under her dress. Merlin spends hours just watching her and Arthur when they're in the combined suite, and Gwaine knows that he's listening to the baby, with his magical feeler's extended. There are enough charms and wards placed around her that if a person walks by with so much as a bad thought they're tripped. Merlin is protective as a mother hen now, obsessed with their safety.

It's life.

It's not pleasant, really. It's hard and long and there are days that Gwaine knows that Merlin fights to get out of bed, to make himself do something before he succumbs to the darkness that still lingers in his mind. Those are the days that Gwaine comes into his rooms and gentles him up, walks with him through the woods, lets him fly off the handle for just a few minutes.

Gwaine is fine with that.

Merlin just can't start shaking again.


	40. Thirty Six

**I don't own Merlin.**

/

"Gwaine?"

Gwaine looks up from where he's steadily working his way through a book- he hasn't ever really read much for fun before, and he's been trying hard to learn to read faster- to see Merlin smiling tiredly from the doorway. He sets the book down, and raises an eyebrow. Merlin looks calmer than he has in months, and finally seems comfortable in his own skin.

"Yes?"

"What do you think about having a picnic?"

He grins, standing up to walk over and give Merlin a bracing, one-armed hug. "Sounds great. I'll get the food."

/

"D'you think…"

"Why yes, Merlin, as a matter of fact I do. Amazing, isn't it?"

"Oh, shut up. Do you think that we could be considered as Arthur's shield and sword?"

"…What?"

"I know, I know…it sounds kind of weird. But…do you think we could be classified as such?"

"Classified as such- Merlin, where're you getting this stuff?"

"Gaius's books. I've been bored."

"That'll do it to you. Hmm…"

The grass waves in the wind, and the sun beats down, wonderfully warm.

"Well…Yes. Yes, I think you could say that, Merlin. I'm the Champion, so I'm the sword, and you protect him day in and day out, so you're the shield." Another pause. "You know, I'd never thought much about it."

"Shield and sword…"

"And now you sound all dreamy, Merlin."

"I can't help it. It's…It's _romantic_, is what it is. It's romantic, and poetic, and heavens preserve us all, I don't _want_ to be a romantic."

"…I don't see how it's romantic, being beat over the head to keep Arthur from having to do it. It's kind of painful, really. Not to mention life threatening, when the occasion arises."

"It's romantic. Don't argue with me."

"Alright then..."

The grass is imprinted with the shape of their lounging bodies when they get up to head home. Camelot shines like a beacon of white in the distance, glittering with hope and promise of the days to come.

"It's nearly been a year since the tournament."

"The one…"

"The one where I nearly died, yes."

"We've come a long way."

"We have, haven't we…" As Merlin drapes the reins over his horse's neck, he murmurs softly, "Shield and sword."

"What?"

"Nothing… I just like the sound of it."

Gwaine swings into his saddle, and grins as Merlin scrambles into his own. "Yes… It sounds just about right."

oOo

**Congratulations. For those of you who made it to this final chapter, I'm glad you're here. As this is, so far I know, the only one of its kind of style, I would greatly appreciate if you took a few minutes to leave a response as to what you thought of it. Did you love it? Did you hate it? Were you touched by it or revolted by it? Do you have a favorite little scene? Would you write this style? I would dearly like to hear it all. You don't even have to sign in. **

**Yours, as always, **

**HM**


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